15 Fragments of Temari
by clockwork starlight
Summary: Being a kunoichi is being cooler than your little brother, always; even if he is the Kazekage.


Hardest thing to write EVAR. I think there are too many words. TOO MANY!! Temari doesn't talk nearly as much as I do. Oh well, whatever. I think I'm done with the 15 fragments thing. I've run out of interesting kunoichi. I might be tempted to do Konan... but I don't feel like it right now. And Karin... is made of megane!Sakura and Sasuke-fetishes.

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15 Fragments of Temari

Skin:  
First things first, you either get over this or you change careers. When you kill someone, don't get bled on. It's a waste of precious water trying to get it off your skin, especially when you're going to have to do it again tomorrow anyway.

Legs:  
The fishnet doesn't do anything really. The asymmetry may make her legs look shorter than they actually are and yeah it's a great trick for _taijutsu_, but since when was anyone able to get close enough to need _that_?

Back:  
Children of the Fourth _Kazekage_, they all bear on their backs the weight of their abilities, their pride, their skill, their existence. They're also pretty useful when scum try attacking from behind.

Head:  
She has never felt more vulnerable than when she was caught in that stupid shadow technique, her arm raised above her head, no matter how much she fought it. He walked her into that trap, and then walked her forward till she could see his face. And it flashed through her mind that some no name punk just beat her.

Teeth:  
She grits her teeth, anticipating her defeat; not daring to look anywhere but the dark behind her eyelids, not at the _Kazekage_ who would be annoyed, not at her teacher who would be angry, not at her brothers who would be disappointed and detached respectively, and certainly not at the slack face of the no name punk who had had her dancing on strings. Defeat doesn't come, but the shock is probably just as bad.

Wrist:  
A fan isn't just a flick of the wrist and a sheet of silk. A fan is about control and movement and masking everything. And being a _ninja_ is turning everything of yourself and your enemy into your own weapon.

Tongue:  
Konoha has more flavor to it than Suna. There's always something to hear, to smell, to see, to taste. The climate has something to do with it, the hottest and coldest parts of the day are nothing to her; there's nothing driving people into their homes but their own selves. Maybe it has more to do with the faces on the stones watching over everything.

Hand:  
She secretly hates herself for it. It should be too late; it should be beyond everything holy and good in the world. He shouldn't take her hand _now_, so many years overdue; he shouldn't accept her apology and look so damn _grateful_. Being a good _kunoichi_ is easier than being a good big sister. Temari is learning this.

Chest:  
She can feel it twisting in her chest, whatever the feeling is; Gaara quietly lying there, weak, on the ground, _helpless_… and all she can do is stare, gaping at him as Kankuro bends to pick him up, their most powerful _shinobi_, a twelve year old feared as a monster. No, not a monster or a _shinobi_ right now; it's her little brother there, half dead and apparently okay with that.

Lips:  
Her face is sharper than her mother's was, her hair is lighter, her eyes are harder. It shouldn't mean a damn thing that Yashamaru once said she had Karura's smile.

Fingers:  
Temari doesn't think about how many fingers she needs to count how many times she's been not-there. It's worse than being useless, because even if you _could_ have kicked the freak's ass from here to Konoha, you can't because you're _in_ Konoha and totally oblivious. But when you're sitting next to one unconscious brother, waiting for news about the kidnapped one, you run out of safe topics to think about pretty damn quickly.

Cheek:  
_You have the power to change people._ She has to explain it to him, this blonde rookie who is loud and annoying and nothing like Gaara, and yet everything like him. It's the streaks of saltwater tracking through blood and dirt on tanned cheeks that makes her do it.

Eyes:  
They close their eyes in prayer for the departed, even though these two villages were enemies once, even though they could be attacked again while they stand here in this big empty field. This moment is too precious and fragile to be broken by distrust now.

Hair:  
She picked out another uniform in honor of becoming a _jounin_, one that's less -sluttish, her brother supplies. Less showy, more mature, she says decisively. Her hair stays the same, because even more than being 'womanly', she's still Temari.

Hip:  
Put all of your being into the attack. Rotate at your hips and let the force flow through you, gaining strength as you turn, and then let it fly. This isn't some wimpy dance move. It takes a force of nature to stop a good _ninja_, or an even better one.


End file.
